


After Oz

by onceandfuturewriter (onceandfuturejedi)



Category: The Wizard Of Oz (1939)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:43:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7870669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceandfuturejedi/pseuds/onceandfuturewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorothy's daughter didn't believe in her mother's stories of her adventures in Oz. But when a wild storm comes and picks her up, she has no choice but to believe and hope for the best as she travels through Oz to find the Cowardly Lion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Oz

My name is Winter Gale Hopkins. You don’t know me, but you probably know my mother. Her name is—or was—Dorothy Gale. Yup. I see the light dawning in your eyes now. Dorothy Gale, you think. The girl from the Wizard of Oz! The cute farm girl who got caught up in a tornado, hit her head, had a fantastic dream where she met the Scarecrow, Tinman, and Lion, blah blah blah. That’s how you know her. From the books, the films, all based on her ‘experiences’ in Oz when she was a teenager.

That’s not exactly how I know her.

See, she’s my mom. Winter Gale Hopkin, that's me. Gale is my mom’s maiden name; she married a guy named Hank Hopkins, a local, down-to-earth farmer boy from Kansas whose land bumped right up to her family’s and who believed in magic and love at first sight. They were happily married for a couple of years, then I came along. They’re still happily married, and I’m grown up now. Eighteen. Almost old enough to leave this little patch of prairie heaven for myself. Anyways, that’s not the point of my story here. You see, I grew up on stories of Oz. When I was little, I used to sing along to the songs from the movie and skip along, pretending our drive was my yellow brick road, clutching my Cowardly Lion doll close. He was always my favorite. My mother never really believed that Oz was a dream like so many people told her. She never said it outright in front of me, but I could see it in her eyes even when I was a kid. She believed every word of every story she told me. To her, Oz was real. And it was for a time for me, too.

But when I got old enough to see the film, to get a phone and be connected to the real world, I realized that it just couldn’t be. The world was much more solid and reliable than that. Tornadoes didn’t just pick you up and carry you away to a magical world. It wasn’t possible. Turns out, I was very wrong.

 ____

My story starts out with a tornado, much the same way my mom’s did. It was a Friday afternoon in late May; school was almost out for the year, and I was home for the weekend, trying to speed through my chores so that I could disappear into my room for a little bit of time to myself. Note for those of you who don’t live on a farm—it’s a _lot_ of work. My parents work almost round the clock and there’s still enough left over to do that my dad swears that if he could ask God for anything, it would be a couple more hours in the day so he could finish everything up properly. I always had plenty to do on top of my schoolwork. So I was out in the barn raking up old hay from empty cow stalls when my phone went off, the ringtone for my friend Emily filling the quiet. Hastily I grabbed it out of my back pocket and hit answer—my parents, never big fans of the phone in the first place, hated it when I was on my phone when I was supposed to be doing my chores.

“Hey Em, what’s up?” I asked, leaning the rake up against a wooden support beam.

“Winter! Oh thank goodness you answered! There’s a huge storm coming right towards us! My dad is about to start the sirens—” A loud, high-pitched wailing began behind Emily’s voice, and I jerked the phone away from my ear, wincing. Faintly I could hear the sirens in real time outside, much quieter than the ear-piercing shrieking coming through the phone; Emily must have been right in the tower when they started. Her dad was our local weather man, in charge of reporting the weather and running tornado watches and sirens. Kansas, you know. “—get inside with your parents—dangerous—biggest one in years—” Emily’s voice was breaking up and barely audible.

“Right, Em, thank you!” I shouted into the phone. “Going to go now!” I hung up, grateful for the relief of quiet. But it didn’t last long. The faint whine of the storm sirens from town had grown louder, and they were accompanied by an ominous, low howl from outside the walls of the barn and a rumble of thunder. I rushed outside, planning to grab my parents and start preparing for the storm, and was nearly knocked to my knees by the wind.

The sky above was a terrifying shade of gray, and a weird greenish light colored the fields into an eerie landscape straight out of a Tim Burton movie. Clutching the door frame of the barn, I looked up into the sky, stunned. The day had been cloudy and gray, but there had been no warning, no sign that a storm of this ferocity could have picked up so quickly. A line of lightning split the sky with a pink-edged brilliance I had to look away from, and within a heartbeat thunder rumbled, loud enough that I swear the ground underfoot shook a little. Already it was getting hard to see; between the darkness that fell with the cloud cover and the dust kicked up by the wind, I could barely see the house anymore.

“Mom? Dad! Where are you?” Spitting hair out of my mouth—my ponytail didn’t stand a chance in this wind—I staggered away from the barn, towards the side of the house, where the storm cellar was. I figured they had to be there already, or would at least head there when they could; with a storm like this there was nothing for it but to make for the cellar and hope for the best. Just as I reached the doors, the rain began. It fell in sheets until I couldn’t see two feet in front of me, and the ground was fast turning to be mud under my feet as I yanked on the doors. They were slippery, hard to get a grip on, and stuck—I knew Dad had talked about needing to oil the hinges, but really. I pulled harder, thoroughly soaked and now being shaken by the winds that were somehow picking up to an even higher pitch, thunder filling my ears and lightning flashes blinding me every few seconds. My fingers slipped off the metal handle and I fell backwards, landing hard in the mud. Deciding that hiding in the house would be better than getting blown away or drowned or worse, I fought my way through the wind and rain and staggered up the porch stairs towards the door to the kitchen. The screen door was flapping wildly, and it hit me hard in the wrist as I tried to grab it. Swearing, spitting hair and rain and mud, I caught hold of the screen door and forced it open, then pushed the kitchen door open too, falling to my knees inside the house. The kitchen door slammed close with a heart stopping bang behind me. It was quieter inside, but not by much. I knew, with all that craziness going on outside, I couldn’t go upstairs to my room, but I had to get out of my wet clothes; my teeth were already chattering. So I shed my boots and squelched across the kitchen in my socks to the laundry room, and I had just made it when I heard the windows in the front room shatter and the sound of the storm flood the house. I ran back, hoping—well, I’m not sure what I was hoping, I just wanted to see how bad the damage was—and stopped dead on the edge of the room. Through the windows I could see the biggest tornado I’d ever seen—and it was coming closer and closer at jaw-dropping speed. Behind it was the greenish Tim Burton landscape, split in half by an impossibly bright, wide rainbow. I took a step forward, drawn to it, and—

 

 And, nothing, Because I don’t remember much past that point about the storm. I’m not really even sure what happened; all I can guess is that I blacked out, so maybe something hit me in the head and I passed out? Maybe traveling to Oz knocks you out? All I do know is, one second I was staggering towards the front dining room window, and the next, I was opening my eyes, lying on the floor of my house, with a headache and silence filling my ears. With a non-too-dignified groan, I pushed myself up off the floor, wincing because my arm really did hurt, and was immediately blinded by a sharp ray of sunshine. Blinking irritably, I rubbed my eyes, looking around. I was still in my house, lying in the doorway halfway between the kitchen and the dining room. Everything looked impossibly clean; the windows were no longer broken, but were sparkling clean and flung wide open in a welcoming manner, the dining room table was spotless and had one of Mom’s neat runners laid out carefully with a vase of sunflowers in the exact center. The floor looked like it might squeak if I walked on it. A glance behind me showed the same treatment to the kitchen; countertops gleamed with surgical perfection, the silverware put away properly and the curtains 100% dust and old bug carcass-free. It was eerie, so clean and full of sunlight. Not that our house was ever dirty, per se; it was just never _this_ clean. Mom didn’t have the time and Dad and I didn’t have the patience, so there was always some clutter, some dust about…not like this. This looked like something out of one of those Home  & Life magazines, honestly.

I stood up and took a step out of the doorway into the dining room, planning to head towards the window to look out, and jumped as my foot came down in a beautiful, sparkling red slipper and lacy sock—nothing I would ever have worn in this lifetime. Looking down, I felt a little ill: gone were my fraying-about-the-cuff overalls and the flannel I’d been wearing, covered in mud an soaked through—instead, I wore a prim, blue gingham checked dress with puffy sleeves, and my hair wasn’t a straggly damp mess even though I swear it still _felt_ that way, but instead done up in glossy braids complete with shiny red silk ribbons tied onto the ends. A glance in the mirror that hung on the far wall of the dining room showed what I’d feared—I looked exactly the way my mother does in all the films. A Dorothy Gale look alike, 10/10.

People always said I looked exactly like my mom, only with my Dad’s light, tawny brown hair and rounder face, and this proved it. Whatever had happened, my hair had even been colored to her brunette. I was royally close to panicking now. I had fallen unconscious during a massive storm, the biggest I’d ever seen, and woken up dressed like a Dorothy doll in a freakily clean and sunny version of my house. Was I in a coma? Was this some weird semi-conscious state that I was trapped in? Did they have me on some meds that messed with my subconscious, causing it to send me into a twisted version of my childhood games? Was I dead? If I was, this was not how I pictured heaven. Hyperventilating a bit, I turned heel and fled the dining room, running headlong through the kitchen, flinging open the door and dashing down the porch steps into the yard. What I saw when I stopped was like nothing I could ever describe.

It clearly was NOT Kansas anymore.

The house had landed in the middle of a clearing in a wood, behind which soared mountains of an unusually vivid emerald-green kind of color. The sky was a bright blue, dotted with unnaturally white, puffy clouds. The clearing itself had perfectly manicured green grass inside of a noticeably round perimeter, and, to my eyes, blinking in the bright, bright sunlight, everything seemed a little too perfect and colored; like when you throw a filter over a photo then airbrush it heavily. The outside of the house looked like a postcard, complete with a couple of cute little sparrows pecking at the bird bath in the front, which is when I knew that something was really up. That birdbath wasn’t even upright at home, and it certainly couldn’t hold water for little sparrows. It had been knocked off its stand and cracked after the last big storm went through, and Dad hadn’t had a chance to fix it yet. I took an uneasy step back from the house, wondering how my subconscious could be quite so demented and how much drug a doc would have to put into my system to get trippy dream worlds like this. I had backed up almost all the way to the edge of the clearing when, almost like a switch being flipped, the sunlight went out. A glance up told me that it was because a cloud had covered the sun; I looked back across the clearing and blinked in shock. The perfect house was gone, replaced by a house that was intimately more familiar, if much more beaten up. The storm had done a number on the house, apparently; there were the broken windows, two of the shutters were missing, and the porch furniture knocked over and strewn about. Looking down, I was relieved to see my overalls reappear, however nasty they were from my scramble through the storm, as well as my flannel, and my muddy socks. Lifting a strand of hair, I could see that, thankfully, my own straggly and very light brown hair had returned. Knotting it up into a bun, I approached the house again cautiously.

As I did, the sun came back out and immediately, the house changed back to its Home & Life look. I was back in the Dorothy dress, ruby slippers included. I turned back around and glared up at the sky, squinting into the sun. Something really bizarre was going on here. Was the sun causing the wardrobe change? Was it some sort of…actually, I was drawing a blank. Short on calling it magic, which of course was ridiculous, I had no idea what could cause an entire storm-beaten house and girl to change into a glittering set from the Wizard of Oz. But I wasn’t going to stay here and ponder it.

 

Ignoring as best I could the click of my ruby heels as I went up onto the porch, I reentered the house and headed for my room. The staircase was always a little slick—the wood was polished from generations of people walking up and down the same staircase, according to Dad—but luckily the sun chose that moment to go behind another cloud, showing me the storm debris scattered down the stairs. A window must have been broken in the top floor, for all of the debris to be here. I picked my way gingerly up, and then the sun returned, hiding away the ills the storm had done upstairs. I walked down the narrow hall into my room and grimaced. Whatever was causing the change in appearances, it clearly didn’t take into consideration how the place looked beforehand. Like the way my overalls had changed into a frilly dress, my bedroom had changed from my comfortable, favorite place to a guest room in your least favorite aunt’s house. An aunt who was very fond of frilly pillows and purple bed spreads and teddy bears. I opened the closest and groaned. All my clothes were, of course, blue dresses. An opened drawer showed frilly white underthings in a drawer that hadn’t held underwear since I was six. I tapped my foot impatiently. I needed to get out of here! I couldn’t stay with my house constantly changing, I’d go crazy. Besides, I’d seen no sign of any other living thing; I needed to start looking for my parents and the animals and make sure that the storm hadn’t destroyed our crops and…

Okay, so I was lying to myself. I had known, deep down, from the moment I’d stepped outside that there was no way I was in Kansas, and that leaving the house would probably not enlighten me as to whether or not Mom’s cabbage patch had survived the tornado. But I was trying to cope with a niggling idea that I had dismissed as nonsense since I was fourteen. This surely wasn’t Oz. Where were the cute singing munchkins? The good witch in pink to direct me where I needed to go? The yellow brick road? I needed to get a grip;  _Oz wasn’t real._

The sun went behind the clouds and I sprang into action, grabbing two shirts out of my closet, a jacket, changing my clothes into a dry set of overalls and a green sweater, and digging out my tan backpack and shoving the new clothes I’d just grabbed in, with a fresh flannel shirt on top. I swung around my room, trying to see if there was anything I’d need last minute before the sun came out and my things disappeared. I grabbed my book—a small paperback, wouldn’t be too heavy—and a thin blanket and, on second thoughts, grabbed a framed photo of my parents and I at a film reunion event last year and pulled the photo out, folding it and tucking it into the book. I shoved my feet into my favorite hiking boots, cuffed my overalls legs—they were long and tended to unfold—and left my room. I paused for a second—my phone! Of course! I didn’t know how I hadn’t thought of it in the first place; it had been in my pocket, when I’d run into the house…I fumbled around in the pockets of my disgarded overalls, pulled it out, and let out a yelp. It was smashed to bits; no way it’d turn on. Leaving it as a lost cause, I threw it onto the bed and ran down the hall. I made it into the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth and the mini first aid kit my mom kept in the bathroom closet before the sun came back out and changed the house. 

I tiptoed down the stairs, trying to remember where the worst mess had been from coming up, and made my way into the kitchen. I sat down in one of the chairs around the table and dropped the backpack-now an irritating basket-at my feet, then dropped my face into my palms. Part of me wanted to stay here and sleep, but I knew I couldn’t; there was no way of locking the doors and who knew who—or what—lived around here; it was better to get out and see if I could get some help. I waited until the sun disappeared again—it took a long time this time, to my annoyance—and then raided the pantry for small, non-perishable items. Properly loaded with food and a full Nalgene bottle hanging off the straps, I left the kitchen and hurried off the porch. I walked resolutely away from the house, trying not to feel nervous, and stopped at a pretty green picket fence that appeared to surround the clearing a few meters into the trees.Once I stepped into the shadows of the trees, everything returned to normal, and I noticed a massive bruise on my arm; which explained why it hurt so much. I vaguely remembered banging my arm on something during the storm...a ways to the left was a proper gate through the fence, and I headed towards that, with one last glance at my sun-warmed house and its falsely perfect appearance. 

Out of habit I closed the gate, and that’s when I noticed the white sign. Written in curling script, it read: _“Brite Meadows, Open 10am-Sunset, Monday through Saturday, Not Open During Holidays!”_ and a description: _“Enjoy the Fantastic and Unbelievable Sunlight that Changes all it touches to something New and Beautiful! Children Enter Free, Ring Bell for Assistance.”_ And further below that, in smaller capital letters : _“Patrons are reminded that the sunlight creates artificial images and that changes are not permanent. Repeated visits for the same change may result in patrons being remanded for further psychiatric help before being permitted to return. Patrons are also reminded that large items such as houses are not permitted into the Meadows, as these items are too difficult for staff to remove. Patrons who violate the rules will be prosecuted.”_ I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but it at least explained the sunlight to a certain degree. Part of me wanted to ring the bell—there was a shiny brass bell hung next to the sign—but I wasn’t certain I wanted to meet whoever answered the bell. Talking to people, I felt, would make whatever had happened just a little too real, and I wasn’t sure I could handle that. I was still hoping that I had just hit my head and was passed out somewhere in the house…and talking to a person in my dream might break the laws and trap me here. I know, not very logical. But something had happened that defied logic…and I was trying to deny it. You know how it goes.

 

 Turns out, I didn’t need to ring the bell. Just as I was turning away from the gate and its sign, a short little man in an emerald silk waistcoat burst out from the trees behind the fence. I could just see the edge of a little white path leading to a little white cottage, and I guessed that through there had to be where the gatekeeper stayed if no one rang the bell.

“A house? A HOUSE?! Who the devil decided to bring a house? Doesn’t anyone read the rules anymore? And why is not one member of the Patrol Squad out there doing something about it? I’m going to have to kill business for a week, where did it even come from? It doesn’t look like a local, must be an out of towner, ugh I am simply going to murder whoever did this! I really am!” I blinked. The man was clearly furious—and easily the height of a fourth grader, but he was definitely not a child. He glanced behind him and then froze just as still as I was upon seeing me gawking from the other side of the fence. His whole outfit was a riot of colors, the emerald waistcoat just the tip of the iceberg; his puffy pants were bright scarlet, his top a navy blue silk, his bow tie gold with orange stripes, and his shoes were a deep purple with emerald buckles. He wore a matching purple top hat as well, and as it was decorated with sunbursts in gold and orange gemstones, it didn’t dampen the outfit any.

“Great, definitely an out of towner,” he muttered, once he’d gotten over his surprise. “Look, Miss, you can’t just bring a house here, that’s not how it works. We got rules; small items only, no more than twenty minutes per visit, no photographs. Will you get your people to come back and take away this house? Otherwise the Patrol Squad will have to take care of it but you’ll get billed extra, Miss, you can count on it.” He stomped towards me, and I backed up a little.

“I—I—I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean for my house to drop in your meadows.”

“You didn’t mean to? Well, if you say so. Get your people, Miss, and hurry. We’re closed for the day but I don’t want patrons getting any funny ideas about bringing houses up here.”

“I don’t have any people,” I said. “There was this storm, and a tornado picked my house up, and I was in it, and then I got dropped here! Wherever here is,” I added as an afterthought. The guy eyed me suspiciously.

“A storm dropped your house into my meadows? Nice try, Miss. Nobody’s believed that tale since Miss Dorothy defeated the Wicked Witch of the West years ago.”

“Dorothy! Yes! I know what happened to her, she’s my—she’s my mom,” I said, grabbing at the one fact I knew for certain. “My name is Winter Gale Hopkins, and I really did get swept up in a storm.”

“Come here,” he said, after staring hard at me for a few seconds. Nervously, I opened the gate and did as he asked. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back towards the meadow.

“Hey—what, stop! What are you doing, HEY! OW!” I yelped, struggling. He was strong for such a short guy though, and he pushed me brusquely out into the sunshine. Immediately, I was blinded and, of course, dressed in the cute little blue gingham checked dress and glittering ruby slippers that are dearly familiar to anyone who loves the Wizard of Oz film. My backpack had been turned into a basket. I tugged on one of the scarlet ribbons in my silky and disconcertingly dark hair irritably and looked at him; he was standing in the shadows, a thoughtful expression on his face. “What did this prove, exactly?” I asked. He sighed and seemed to collect himself.

“We don’t know how the sunlight works,” he said instead. “But whatever it is, it changes things to a newer, cleaner, better version of themselves. It follows a predictable pattern though, if you watch it long enough. It only has a certain number of…alterations, and they reflect the object very particularly. I’ve never seen it put a Dorothy on, though, and so that must mean…” he looked at me expectantly.

“It must mean I’m telling the truth, why else would it try to turn me into a Dorothy.”

“Exactly. It doesn’t really show the ‘best version’ of something, it doesn’t know how, that's just what we market it as. It justs...cleans things up in a certain way. So it just colored you into a clean, pretty Dorothy.”

“Great. Now that we’ve established that I’m not lying, where am I?”

“Why my dear, I should’ve thought it was obvious. You’re in Oz.”

 

In the interest of not lying in print, I’ll admit I was pretty distressed about his revelation. I mean, kind of excited too, but mostly freaked out. I’d spent the last four years in complete denial that there was any possibility of truth behind Mom’s stories of Oz, and now…poof. Here I was. Talking to a living, breathing Ozian, who was just as wild as I could have expected—

“O—Oz?” I said. I think I must’ve swayed a little, because he took a step forward, into the sun. “Yowch!” I yelled, covering my eyes and backing up again. He scuttled back into the shadows, apologizing. The sunlight had turned his suit of many colors into a dazzling peacock array of blinding brightness that had seared my retinas and left me blinking furiously.

“I don’t know why it thinks that a better version of myself is one that _blinds_ people,” he said, a touch of petulance in his voice. “It does that no matter what I’m wearing.”

“Ow _yeah_ , that’s pretty bright,” I agreed. “Can I come back now?”

“Of course, my apologies again.” He backed up and allowed me to join him under the cover of the trees. This time, curious, I watched as I stepped out of the sun, watching how the dress changed with a sort of ripple back into my overalls.

“Now, what to do about your house,” he said, the annoyed look returning to his face.

“Why not just tell people it’s an exhibit?” I suggested. “Tell them it’s a model American farm house for people to view, like the one that fell when Dorothy came. You can charge extra to let them in.”

“Hmmm. …Yes…might even rival the profit the Munchkins make off of that wreck left out in Munchkinland. You’d let me escort people into your house, Miss Winter?” he seemed thoughtful, and I turned over in my head the knowledge that Mom’s old house—the one she’d landed on the Wicked Witch of the East—was still out in Munchkinland. Were the witch’s legs still trapped underneath? I shuddered a little, then remembered that he’d actually asked me a question.

“Sure…just make sure the sun stays out while you’re in there, the storm messed it up pretty badly and the inside isn’t pretty to see without the light. Otherwise it’s fine.” Mom’s house had clearly been there when she’d returned to Kansas from Oz, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to let people see it, if it helped this guy out. A speaking of which—“Hey, what’s your name? You know mine,” I said.

“Arias the Third,” he said proudly. “Gatekeeper of the Brite Meadows for three years now.”

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, smiling.

“Can I interest you in some tea?” He gestured back towards where he’d emerged from the trees. “Since you were so kind as to create a profitable business opportunity for me.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” I said. “I need to go…well, I don’t really know what to do. I just needed to get away from the house. I have to find a way to get home though, my parents will be worried sick…” I trailed off, feeling a little homesick. In truth, I didn’t know if they’d be worried. It had been hard for Mom to tell how much time had passed when she’d returned from Oz. And, now that I thought about it, I didn’t know if they were okay, forget about me. I hadn’t seen them at all before the storm had hit, and if they had gotten stuck outside because of the sticky handle to the storm cellar the way I had…

“You could try the Emerald City,” said Arias thoughtfully. “Last I heard Dorothy’s ruby slippers-the real ones, not the ones the sunlight gave you-were on display in the Emerald Castle. Mr. Scarecrow may let you use them, since you’re Dorothy’s daughter.”

“Mr. Scarecrow…as in, _the_ Scarecrow? Mom’s friend? The one who went to ask the Wizard for a brain?”

“That’s him." Arias nodded. "He rules the Emerald City now in place of the Wizard, with Mr. Tinman. His Royal Monarchness the Lion went back to rule his forest once he had his courage—you should have seen the processional, it was simply extraordinary.”

“Well then,” I said, feeling a little breathless. “I’ll go see the Scarecrow and the Tinman. I’m sure they’ll be able to help me get home to Mom and Dad. Thank you so much for the information, Arias.”

“Of course! Thank you for the business venture, Miss Winter.” I turned to leave, then stopped.

“Um, Arias. Which way is it to the Emerald City? Don’t suppose I should just follow the yellow brick road?” He looked at me strangely.

“No, the yellow brick is over out of Munchkinland…to get to the Emerald City from here you’ll need to follow the cerulean brick road.”

“The cerulean brick road?” I looked at him skeptically and he nodded, completely guileless.

“I’ll show you.” He led the way back to the green fence and pointed. Sure enough, outside the gate, a path began, leading away through the trees and disappearing over the crest of a hill; a path of brilliant blue bricks.

“ _Okay_ ,” I said with some resignation. Clearly, my journey was going to be quite different from Mom’s.

“It’s about a day’s journey, you should be fine,” Arias said as I left through the gate. “Just…do be careful, Miss Winter. I’ve heard strange things from patrons recently…flying monkeys, trouble in the forest…trouble in the Emerald City…just be on your guard.”

“I—okay. I will. Thanks again, Arias.”

“Farewell, Miss Winter Gale.” I turned and started walking, lifting a hand in farewell as I crested the hill, then I was over it and couldn’t see him anymore. And I was on my own in Oz.

 

Walking through a forest in Oz isn’t as interesting as you might expect. It looked like pretty much every other forest; no creatures more exotic than a fox that darted across the path, its red fur contrasting nicely with the blue bricks while I almost had a heart attack. After a while, the path started rising and falling gently, and began to also go in and out of trees. Where the forest failed, there were miles of bright-colored fields, leading up to the foothills of the emerald mountains I’d seen earlier. The path, when I could see it in the distance, looked like it was heading towards the mountains, and I remembered Mom’s description of the Emerald City, that behind it rose the towering Emerald Mountains, and how even those couldn’t diminish the green-ness of the city itself. Which, considering the beauty and vibrancy of the color of the mountains, seemed like an exaggeration. But I had done enough of not believing Mom’s stories by now; it was time to start taking her at her word.

So while I walked, I remembered. I pulled out the folded photo of the three of us and stared hard at her familiar face, trying to remember her stories from when I was a kid; stories of Munchkins and poisonous poppies and a wizard who was just an ordinary man. About five or six hours into walking I was beginning to realize that, no matter how romantic adventures seemed in novels or movies, they were, in fact, probably very uncomfortable things that led to the heroine’s feet being sore and her stomach growling and being so tired that she just wanted to fall over and sleep right where she fell. I know Mom never mentioned it, and I shook my head. Her little trusty basket must’ve held more tasty things in it than granola bars and cashews and the one chocolate bar I’d pilfered, which was taking all my self-control not to just devour right then. And those ruby slippers…I shook my head. As her daughter I’d been allowed on the set of the film as a kid, and I’d even tried on the ruby slippers worn by Judy Garland. The real ones must have been a sight more comfortable than those, because I couldn’t imagine doing this much walking in those heels, no matter how pretty.

Ahead, I saw that the path took a upward turn and led into what looked like another wooded patch. Promising myself that I’d stop there and rest at the very least, I doggedly rolled up my pant legs another fold (the day had become pretty warm once I’d left the cool of the forest), shouldered my bag, and picked up my pace. Now that I looked closer, this part of Oz seemed different from what I’d pictured from Mom’s stories, or even the film. Where Mom had landed was a area with plenty of people living in it, and the land had reflected that I guess, with neatly laid out fields and trimmed back forests. My side of Oz was much wilder; the fields weren’t mowed down and tilled for farming, but instead were broad meadows dotted with all manner of wildflowers and tall grass. And it was so quiet, once away from the trill of birdsong that I’d heard often in the forest. If it hadn’t been for the way the road was so well-maintained, I would have thought that no one lived out here. Apparently there were parts of Oz that weren’t populated by small singing people…which of course makes sense, if it was a magical land. Mom had only explored parts of it during her time here; I was getting to see a whole other side.

I smiled to myself—Mom would be so thrilled to hear new stories about Oz! I could just see her closing her eyes the way she’d taught me to, imagining this place in all it’s bright color and detail. She would laugh so hard when I told her about Arias and how the Brite Meadows always turned his clothes blindingly colorful, and how I’d gotten turned into a Dorothy miniature. She loved telling the story of how she’d tried getting me to wear one of her old dresses when I was a little girl, and how I’d run away into town until my father found me outside the hardware store, crying because I was so embarrassed at my teacher’s cooing and the other students quoting the movie at me. Realizing that this was somewhere completely new made me wonder how big Oz really was; I mean I’d landed a day’s journey on the other side of the Emerald City, and Mom had landed even further away, and how far did those mountains stretch? And, of course, there was the old Wicked Witch’s castle; I wondered where that was in relation to where I’d landed. And surely Glinda had a castle? I mean she was a witch too, right? And what about the Witch of the South? Was she a good witch or a wicked witch? I figured she had to be a good witch; there should be two and two, right? But who was I to say that the good to evil witch ratio in Oz had to be even. This wasn’t the storybook land that I’d always imagined it to be; there was so much more to it.

Looking up, I realized I’d finally reached the edge of the stand of trees I’d been aiming for. Up close, I also realized that it was actually a forest; it was a lot bigger than I’d thought originally. I entered, keeping my eyes open for a nice cool place to rest. It was beginning to get late; the sun had sunk so low that it seemed to be resting on the tops of the green mountains, turning them into darkened silhouettes and sending golden orange rays over the peaks in a brilliant array. I swallowed a little nervously as I followed the road; Arias had said it was only a day’s journey, but that was clearly by some different standards, or maybe I had just left later than he usually did, as it was nearing the end of the day and I hadn’t seen the Emerald City yet. I didn’t really want to be caught in the dark in these woods, though; I figured I’d rather sleep in the fields and tall grass and risk getting a little wet with dew than in a dark forest filled with who knew what kind of creatures. I was also starting to get hungry; I had been resisting the temptation to devour the food I’d brought in hopes of being able to curl up comfortably for a bit of dinner and maybe a chance to read. I turned around, planning to walk back to the meadows and tackle the forest tomorrow, when an unearthly screeching began. I glanced over my shoulder quickly, more than a little freaked. No one likes to hear terrifying noises in the forest at night, and least of all when you're in a magical land and you don't have any idea  _what_ _could be the cause_ of said screeching noises, except what your imagination offers you. And apparently my imagination had it in for me; images of all kinds of monsters from every type of book and TV show popped unbidden into my head, until the screeching sounded like it was coming from a pack of vicious velociraptors planning on ripping my insides out and consuming me alive. 

Then the noise stopped. And that was almost worse. 

Heart pounding, I took off running. I couldn't stop myself. Behind me, the screeching rose up again, spurring me on. I didn't stop until I had cleared the edge of the forest and was some distance away. Breathing heavily-running wasn't necessarily a strength, and my backpack was heavier than I thought-I stopped and turned back to the forest. No velociraptors had followed me out, and I couldn't hear the screeching any longer...although that might have been more due to the blood pounding in my ears. Sighing, I looked around for a likely spot to settle for the night, and spotted a little rise, a few hundred yards off the cerulean brick road. Shouldering my bag so that it was re-settled on my shoulders comfortably, I headed towards it. It wasn't much when I got there, but it would do; I spread out the blanket I had grabbed, unpacked a peanutbutter sandwich and two granola bars, and fished out my book. I had been reading  _The Martian_ , and it amused me briefly as I started reading that I suddenly could relate to being dropped in a sudden and unsettling location, although frankly I was grateful I could breathe the air here. 

My amusement didn't last long, though. Eating the peanutbutter sandwich made me homesick all over again. My mom had made this sandwich this morning; she always made two or three extra in the morning and wrapped them in Ceran wrap, just in case one of the farmhands forgot their lunch. It seemed like a long time ago, and at that moment, all I wanted was to know that they were okay. And to get a hug from Mom, and to hear Dad singing "Takin' Care of Business" in that off-key twang of his, that always made Mom groan and shake her head, laughing. I finished the food I'd pulled out-although it kind of tasted like ash once I started feeling down-and swallowed a mouthful of water. I hoped I'd make it to the Emerald City earlier in the day tomorrow; I was running low on water, although I shouldn't have been surprised by that. Feeling thoroughly sorry for myself and chilly, now that the sun had fully set, I wrapped myself in my blanket and used my backpack as a pillow, staring up at the sky. The stars were beautiful here, I realized. Each tiny twinkle had a sort of opalescent shine to them, as though they were tiny fragments of rainbow stuck onto the sky-a different look from the clean white pinpricks of our stars at home. The moon was round and bright, casting enough light over the landscape that I wasn't as afraid as I'd thought I might be. I don't remember my last thought before I fell asleep-they always mention that in books, don't they, their 'last thought'-because frankly, once I was lying down, I was asleep before I had time to think it. 

 

I woke up to impossibly bright sunshine and a bee the size of my big toes sitting on my nose. You can imagine my reaction. 

I felt well rested, and after I was done freaking out over the bee, I decided to eat the chocolate bar for breakfast while I geared up to face the forest again. Sitting there on my little rise, looking around me at the flower-filled meadows and once-again verdant mountains, it was hard to recall my fear and lonliness from the night before. It's hard to feel anything but hopeful when you're bathed in warm sunlight and are having chocolate for breakfast. I tucked the photograph of my family in my overalls pocket, then packed my bag and headed back to the cerulean brick road. Curious, I stooped to have a closer look-was it just a really good paint job? That had always been something that bothered me about the yellow brick road; even as a kid I'd had a hard time picturing yellow bricks that were legitimately yellow, and not just painted. But these bricks were a certified, honest-to-goodness blue. Even the dust off of them was blue-I rubbed my finger on one and it came up a dusty blue. Shaking my head in wonder-what were they made of?-I set off for the forest. I'll admit I paused before I entered-it still grew darker despite the bright sunshine in the meadows as I took a few steps in, and I felt just plain uneasy. But the road went straight through, so I would too. 

There wasn't much to speak of for the first hour or so of travel; I didn't see any sign of life, and the trees just grew thicker and closer together the further I went. The screeching was mercifully silent. I was still nervous though, so I tried humming "Shake It Off" by Taylor Swift. That didn't really help much, especially since I inherited my Dad's singing voice, so I just kept walking, eyes focused straight ahead. Another hour passed. I  _had_ to be getting near to the end of this thing, right? It couldn't go on right up to the Emerald City; Mom had never mentioned one in her stories. Encouraged by this thought, I paused for a sip of water. And that was when the screeching started up again, up ahead of me. It sounded like a really,  _really_ angry pack of monkeys. Scenes from The Planet of the Apes leapt into my head. 

I wanted to run. I really did. But then I heard something else-panicked shouting. Whatever creature, monster,  _thing_ was screeching, it was attacking someone. 

I'd like to say that I was really brave and ran to help without thinking. The truth is, I sort of minced-I went two steps, had to stop to calm down, then went a few more. In this fashion, I made my way towards the sound. The shouting and screeching continued as I approached, and then suddenly stopped. I was just around a bend in the road from where I thought the sound was coming from, and I stopped too. And eerie silence fell, and it took all my willpower to convince myself to round the bend and see what there was to see.

There was nothing.

Really. _Nothing_. The road met the edge of a stream and a matching blue-wood bridge that crossed it, then continued out of sight, around another turn on the other side. There was no sign of any screeching nightmares, and no mangled bodies of their victims. Or, you know, the victorious hero standing over the nightmare's mangled bodies. Neither. The only thing that was unusual was the roots of a tree by the stream that were shaped sort of like a moss-covered unicorn. Otherwise the forest was as lifeless as it had been for the past hour.

" _Psst. You should really get under cover._ " I about jumped six feet when the whisper hit my ears. Whirling, I didn't see anyone. 

"Who-who's there?" 

" _I'm serious! They'll be back for another patrol in a few mintues."_

"Who's speaking? Look, I don't know-" There was a single, long-drawn out, howling screech. 

" _NOW!"_ I didn't need the extra urging. Panicking slightly, I headed for what was probably, in hindsight, the dumbest hiding place I could've found in a forest full of  _trees_ I could've hidden in. I ducked behind the unicorn-shaped uprooted tree. Only to discover that there was no tree attached to the roots that I had hidden behind. I didn't have much of a chance to ponder this, however. 

"Not  _here!_ " said an exasperated voice beside me. A warm puff of breath hit my ear. I screamed and scrambled back, lost my balance on the edge of the stream, and landed with a splash that seemed unbearably loud, banging my bruised wrist as I went. The screeching picked up. "Go, go, get under the bridge! They'll leave if they don't see anything, that was my mistake before!" I had time to note a pair of big brown eyes looking out at me from the roots-or not roots?-before I did as instructed and splashed over to hide beneath the bridge. There wasn't much of a bank, so I crouched in the stream, feeling it soak through my shoes and socks and into the seat of my pants. I covered my head with my hands as the screeching grew louder and louder, till it's source was clearly overhead. Timidly, I looked through my fingers, and was shocked to see- _was that a FLYING MONKEY?_

Honestly I don't know why I was surprised. This was  _Oz_ , after all. Flying monkeys were part and parcel of the Wizard of Oz. But these were not the endearingly awkward full-body suits wearing blue fez that you're familiar with. They were black-furred monkeys with big, wide wings that had oily black feathers, and I caught of glimpse of red eyes as they swooped by, screeching in that unearthly manner that was much,  _much_ worse now that it was right above me. They flapped around the clearing for what felt like a painfully long time, until I was shivering in the stream and was thoroughly wet. When it finally fell silent, I nervously leaned out. The coast was clear, and I pulled myself back up onto the bank and tried to wring out my pant legs, with little luck. 

"We can't stay here, they'll be back. The patrols come by regularly. I knew that, but still...what brings you through the Forest?" The voice came from the root-shape again and, as I watched in disbelief, it stood up and stretched. What I thought was a unicorn-shaped stump was actually, in fact, a unicorn. A green one. Or, more precisely, a brown-ish one, with a shaggy mane and tail of moss-green and a horn that looked like it was made of twisted bark. He had big, warm brown horse eyes, that gazed at me expectantly. 

"I-I-I'm going to the Emerald City," I finally managed to stammer out. I wasn't sure what was harder to swallow: the unicorn, the  _talking_ unicorn, or the fact that he had disguised himself as a fallen tree. If I had had any question about the reality of what had happened to me, this clinched it. No way I could've come up with a unicorn that matched the trees, not even in the trippiest, drug-induced, coma-patient dream. 

"Oh? Well, you're not far, but you picked a terrible time to go anywhere. The road has been getting more dangerous. And the Forest...something's not right here." 

"I'm sorry-but something's not right here? You are a talking unicorn," I replied bluntly. The shock was finally wearing off somewhat. He shook his mane, nodding.

"Well, yes, I am. What else would I be? My name is Jonas, of the Forest. And you are clearly a human, although I've never seen one quite so...unmagical." 

"I-I'm Winter...sorry, but did you say unmagical?" 

"Yes. I can usually see the Heart of Oz that resides in every living thing in Oz. It's one of the gifts of being a creature so closely tied to the Heart myself. But you...there's nothing. It's almost as if you're not from here." 

"Well I'm not." I think I sounded more sharp than I had intended; he flicked his ears back. But something about being called unmagical kind of hurt. 

"You're not?"

"No. I'm from Kansas. I'm trying to get to the Emerald City so that I can use my mom's ruby slippers and get back home. That's all I want,  _to get back home."_ I'm afraid I sniffled a little. 

"Kansas...like, the star? Where Miss Dorothy fell from, when she defeated the Wicked Witch of the West?" 

"Yeah, the same one. Dorothy is my mom."

"Well, it's an honor to meet you, Miss Winter! Miss Dororthy is a hero to the creatures of the Forest; it is with her help that the Lion gained his courage and became our most wonderful Monarch." 

"Have you seen him? The Lion?" I smiled fondly-the Lion was always my favorite, like I said, and the thought that I might see him come bounding out of the trees, red bow and all, made me look around hopefully. 

"No," Jonas' head dropped, and I felt my heart sink unexpectedly. "That's why I'm on the road. I went to see him, but was denied access by his Court. I don't know what to do! The Forest is getting darker and more dangerous by the day, and he hasn't been out to do anything since it began. I thought maybe, if I went to talk to him...but I didn't even get a chance to see him. Now I'm worried that the Forest will go back the way it was, before-" he lowered his voice. "Before the Wicked Witch was defeated. Her castle is in the most Western edge of the Forest, you know, and when she was living there its darkness spread across the whole forest. Since the Lion took over it has been much improved. But now..." he snorted and pawed the ground. 

"Maybe you could come to the Emerald City with me?" I felt an odd sense of deja-vu. My mom had said a similar thing to her companions on her journey. "I'm sure the Scarecrow and Tinman will have heard from the Lion, maybe they can help you." 

"Do you really think so?" He swished his tail, and I nodded. 

"They're friends, right? Surely they'll be able to get you an audience with the Lion, especially with your concerns. And I have to go talk to them anyways about the slippers, you can just come with me." 

"Alright! I will, Miss Winter. We will journey to the Emerald City together."

I grinned, feeling like we should break into "We're Off to See the Wizard." But a long screech put an end to that. 

"What do we do?" 

"We run! We should make the edge of the Forest shortly; and the Emerald City is not far beyond it. Climb on my back! I guarantee I can run faster than you," Jonas shook himself, and I nervously swung myself up on his back. I live on a farm-I'm well acquainted with riding, but not on unicorns. I gripped his mossy mane, and clamped my legs around his belly.

"Sorry in advance," I said.

"Not to worry. Hold on tight!" He took off at a trot, clopping over the bridge and then breaking into a gallop once over it. The screeching began to grow louder again, and I could see the monkeys beginning to swoop lower, in and out of the tree cover that was starting to thin out. With a blinding rush, we broke out of the Forest and were back into the impossibly bright sunlight. Jonas galloped down the cerulean brick road, his hooves pounding the brick as he went. It ran down into a valley between two hills immediately out of the Forest, and as we crested up the second he slowed.

"The Emerald City," he announced, a touch of pride in his voice. 

The view was breathtaking. Below us spread a wide range of gently rolling hills, a lush landscape. Out of it, in front of a range of cliffs that marked the closest beginnings of the mountainous backdrop, rose the Emerald City, sparkling in the sun. Green towers and domes were surrounded by a tall wall, and green flags snapped in the breeze. It was so bright that there appeared to be a sort of halo around it, and I could suddenly understand why the Wizard, upon crashing his hot air balloon in Oz, decided that he didn't want to leave. It was beautiful. Through the rolling hills, I could see the yellow brick road making its way from Munchkin Land to the gates, and felt a flash of awe.  _It was real._ _Really real._

With a screech, the flying monkeys arrived, shattering the glamorous, picture-perfect vista. 

"GO, Jonas, go!" I shouted. He took off, nearly jolting me off his back, and I threw my arms around his neck and tried to make myself as small as possible as the monkeys reached us. 

They swooped in, screeching and howling and grabbing at me, and I felt their claws grasp at my clothes, hair, at Jonas' mane-whatever they could reach. A glance up showed a teeming horde of the monsters above us, all oily feathers and greasy fur and feral red eyes, their mouths open to bare terrifying sharp fangs and their claws extended to grab and tear us to pieces. After that, I'll admit I didn't look up again. 

We pounded for the Emerald City, and I blessed the road that kept us going straight and smooth as the monkeys swooped and attacked. I felt my backpack tear away, nearly unseating me, but I held on and urged  Jonas on. He tossed his head, causing me to shout, but he was deterring away a monkey that had made an attempt at his eyes, and kept running. The screeching grew louder as the flying monkeys grew bolder, then suddenly-nothing. Jonas faltered and stopped, his sides heaving, and I slid off. He was soaked with sweat, and I patted his shoulder. 

"We made it, Jonas! Look," I pointed behind us, where the flying monkeys writhed and howled at the edge what looked to me like a soap bubble barrier that suddenly rose up out of the ground. 

"What is it?" He panted, and I shook my head. 

"Some kind of barrier? I don't know." I turned my back on the monkeys. "Come on, Jonas it's not much further."

He followed me as I set off walking towards the green gates, which now rose out of the ground in front of us, gleaming in the sun. 

"Thank you," I said, as we walked along. He flicked his glance at me, and something unspoken passed between us. I smiled, and he shook his mane.

"I'm glad we both made it," he replied, and we carried on in companionable silence for the rest of the walk up to the gates. 

 

There was another sign on the gate. These Ozians seemed to love their signs, I thought, raising an eyebrow at this one, hung sort of hastily on the knob of a smaller walking gate besdie the huge emerald gates that marked the entrance to the city.  _Bell out of order, please knock._

"I guess we knock?" I said aloud, and Jonas snorted. 

"Please, do the honors." 

I raised a hand and knocked. It hardly even echoed, and I stood awkwardly, wondering if there was even anyone there to hear. It was surprisingly quiet. I was just raising my hand to knock again when a panel slid open on the door and a man with a luxurious mustache and nose that twitched peered out. He squinted at me, and I recognized him with a jolt-it was the gatekeeper, the crotchety, funny little man who governed the entrance to the Emerald City. Mom always tried to hide her snicker when she recalled this part of her story; she'd been so concerned on getting in that at the time it hadn't been funny, but after the fact...he was a laughable character. His hat was massive, for starters. 

"Who's there?" 

"My name is Winter Gale Hopkins, and I've come to seek an audience with the Scarecrow and the Tinman, with my companion, Jonas of the Forest," I said in my most official voice. 

"Who?" 

"My mother is Dorothy Gale, you may remember her? I've come to speak to the Scarecrow and the Tinman, to ask their help in getting home." 

"Mr. Scarecrow and Mr. Tinman are not currently seeing visitors, you'll have to come back." He didn't seem as funny as Mom described him. If anything, I would have said he looked almost...worn. Scared, even. 

"Come back? Come back from where? We were chased here by a flock of evil flying monkeys, I don't think we have the time to 'come back!' Believe me, they'll want to see me." I tried to sound more confident than I really was on that last part. There was really no reason the Scarecrow and Tinman should want to see me, other than to relive old memories...sort of. Maybe they missed Mom? 

"Flying monkeys, you say?" The gatekeeper squinted past me, then his eyes widened massively. "I see. Well, you'd better come in immediately." He disappeared and the panel slammed shut. Over the sound of a number of bolts being unlocked, I smiled winngingly at Jonas. 

"Well, that went well," I said. He snorted and tossed his head. 

The gatekeeper pulled open the walking gate, and ushered us through. We were inside a guard shack, but I could see through a window the massive green streets sparkling, and countless people bustling about, all in wild outfits in every shade of green imaginable. 

"Please wait here, attendants will escort you to the Emerald Palace," the gatekeeper said nervously. I nodded, and he scurried behind a desk and sat down. His hat really was huge, for such a short man. I turned to the window-I wanted another glimpse of the Emerald City-but didn't have time to press my nose up against the glass. Four attendants, three men in green livery and a woman in a glittering green gown with kelly green lipstick, ushered us, all smiles, into a carriage with green-tinted windows. Jonas was a little hesitant-for obvious reasons, as he was a horse in a carriage which would be a weird arrangement in any land-but they hurried him up the little step stool and into the train-car sized carriage. I didn't see much more of the city, to my disappointment, but I got a sense of urgency from the attendants that made me shiver. This wasn't the carefree, gloriously verdant city that Mom had come to, full of singing and dancing and merry entertainment. I wasn't sure what was different-after all, hadn't the Wicked Witch been alive when Mom had come? She was long dead now, surely the city should be a better place? Instead, it seemed like everyone was on edge. I could tell Jonas was picking up on it, too; his ears twitched uneasily. I glanced at the female attendant, but she met my gaze with a bright smile, all the while keeping her eye out the window. The carriage ground to a halt, and she stood, smoothing her dress into place. 

"Welcome to the Emerald Palace!" She waved her hand like a tour guide as the doors opened-not to the outside, but to a wide hallway covered in deep, forest-green velvet. Jonas practically blended in once more. She led us, flanked by the other attendants, down the hallway a ways, then threw open a pair of doors. 

I'll admit, my jaw dropped. The grand entrance of the Emerald Palace was like nothing I could ever have imagined. Green-and-silver-flecked marble floors were polished to a gleam, leading up to a grand staircase of green marble. Pillars of malachite green flanked the main entrance to our left, and green silk hangings emblazoned with the letters _EC_ in gold that shimmered like peacock feathers hung from the ceiling, which stretched up almost out of sight. I felt singularly shoddy, standing among all the splendor in overalls that were soaking wet from Jonas' sweat and my fall into the stream, beyond being torn and shredded where the monkeys had clawed me. I reached up and tried to smooth my hair self-conciously, and the female attendant laughed sweetly. 

"If you'll follow me? I'll show you where you can freshen up before your audience with Mssrs Scarecrow and Tinman." She gestured widely, and I laughed weakly.

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that." 

"If your companion will follow my counterpart? We have a team specially ready for him as well." I glanced at Jonas, who cocked his head at me ina weirdly non-horse-like manner. 

"I'll see you shortly," he said. "I could use a bath."

"Me too," I grinned. He swished his tail, then followed the male attendants across the marble floors and through another door, leaving me with the lady with green lips. Privately, I promised myself I wouldn't let them give me green lips, whatever else they did to "freshen me up;" this was the place where the Cowardly Lion had gotten his mane crimped and had a bow put in it, so I wasn't ready to rule out green lips. 

"My name is Grace," she said with a smile. "If you'll come this way, Miss Winter Gale?"

 

 

Later, after a bath-the green water and bubbles were a little disconcerting, I'll admit-I dressed in the clothes Grace had laid out for me: a long-sleeved, cotton-lace dress in a pale green color that I would never have chosen for myself and that reached my lower thighs, a pair of tights in a grayish-green color, knee-high green suede buckled boots in a similarly green-gray color, and a leather tunic/doublet thing that buttoned in the front and was a rich emerald color. It was certainly a unique outfit piece; it had a wide collar that lay against my shoulders, with EC embroidered in gold on each lapel, and was shorter in the front and longer in the back, like a formal riding coat. I was surprised by how comfortable the whole ensemble was; I felt like a real adventure heroine now. Grace had returned and insisted on doing my hair, but I'd argued her down and managed to convince her to leave my hair in it's ponytail. I stood in the dressing room, by the chair where I'd just gotten a rather nice manicure done, and unfolded the picture of my family I'd carried with me. I had saved it from my overalls pocket; it was creased and a bit damp, but otherwise it was okay. I was so grateful that I'd put it in my pocket that morning that I barely had words for the feeling. Staring at the photo, I swallowed hard. I hadn't thought of Mom and Dad much since being chased by the flying monkeys, but in this moment of downtime, all the worry and homesickness rushed back. I wondered if they were okay, if they had noticed that I was missing yet, or at all. 

I didn't have long to worry, though; Grace returned and, seeing that I passed her inspection, led me back to the main entrance hall to wait for Jonas. Standing under the high ceilings, I was once again impressed enough that I didn't think to ask Grace any questions while we waited. 

When Jonas returned, he was a new unicorn; his coat shone and his mane seemed even more green than it had been. His hooves had been given emerald shoes, and a gold-and-emerald saddle blanket was thrown over his back, with the same EC emblem in the corner. 

"Messrs Scarecrow and Tinman will see you now," announced a footman with an impressive green mustache, who stood at the foot of the grand staircase and gestured up the stairs. The doors at the top of the staircase creaked open, and, resting a hand on Jonas' back, we started up the stairs towards the audience chamber. It was time to see Mom's old friends. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
